Ineffable beauty, offering itself--and in the human soul, the
eternal human discord: what else makes the poignancy of art--the passion
of poetry?
* * * * *
"That's enough!" said Kitty, at last, turning abruptly away.
"You like it?" said Ashe, softly, detaining her, while he pressed the
little hand upon his arm. His heart was filled with a great pity for his
wife in these days.
"Oh, I don't know!" was Kitty's impatient reply.
"It haunts me. There's still another to see--in a chapel. The
sacristan's making signs to us."
"Is there?" Ashe stifled a yawn. He asked Margaret French, who had come
up with them, whether Kitty had not had quite enough sight-seeing. He
himself must go to the Piazza, and get the news before dinner. As an
English cabinet minister, he had been admitted to the best club of the
Venice residents. Telegrams were to be seen there; and there was anxious
news from the Balkans.
Kitty merely insisted that she could not and would not go without her
remaining Tintoret, and the others yielded to her at once, with that
indulgent tenderness one shows to the wilfulness of a sick child.
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